


A Nightmare in Eversong Woods

by Direbane



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Forsaken, Gen, Horror, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Gore, Murder, Mutilation, Original Character(s), Psychological Torture, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Sadism, Serial Killer, Undead, blood elf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Direbane/pseuds/Direbane
Summary: A perfectly lovely summer night in Eversong Woods didn't go quite as planned for young Lilea. On the other hand, it went just according to the plan for her new friend.Set only a few months prior to the present time.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Nightmare in Eversong Woods

Lilea was panting heavily, almost out of breath, struggling to keep running at a steady pace and praying she managed to get away from her pursuer. Not even in her wildest dreams, no… nightmares, could she ever have imagined that a pleasant summer night would suddenly turn into such an absolute horror. She never should have taken that shortcut her stupid, _stupid_ brother suggested, it strayed far too much from the main road. Yes, it was perfectly safe. Even at night. Any other night, perhaps. But not tonight. This night was seemingly about to seal her fate if she didn’t keep running, running, running. Oh, she would slap Loranir so hard the first chance she got for persuading her into this nonsense. “It will save you a quarter of an hour”, he said. How about a lifetime of nightmares? No, no… no. She shouldn’t do this, not now. She needed to focus. On her breathing. On her rapidly diminishing strength. On getting to safety.

If only she managed to reach the main road, she would be safe. There must have been at least one guard on patrol… somewhere. But if she was right in her quick estimation, the main road was nowhere near her current position, she would never make it there in time. She needed to hide instead. And it needed to be done fast, she could only run so much farther before collapsing, she was already about to trip and tumble. Her elaborate summer dress wasn’t making things easier either. A glimmer of hope lit up her spirit like a bonfire, as her source of salvation finally revealed itself, not far ahead. A small bridge was stretched across a shallow ditch, but she was confident she could easily fit under it and hide. Mustering the very last bits of strength she ran straight for it, emboldened by determination and growing hope. Crouching down, she crawled under the bridge as fast as possible, muddying her beautiful yellow silk dress in the process. But that was hardly her most pressing problem at that very moment. Leaning her back against the side of the ditch, she made sure to remain far away from the treacherous moonlight should it reappear from behind the clouds again, sinking into the shadows. Alright. This was not too bad. There was hardly any possibility he could have spotted her, as she was certain she managed to put quite some distance between them. This gave her the opportunity to finally rest a spell, recover her breath, and simply wait it out until the morning. If lucky enough, she wouldn’t even have to wait that long, someone was bound to pass that way sooner than later. Right? Of course. Someone would. Her heartbeat was also calming down and sounding less like an orcish war drum and she focused on her breathing yet again, the adrenaline rush slowly diminishing. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of respite.

She never heard a single sound, but his rotting stench filled her nostrils instantly. A growing terror crept back into her entire body, crawling along her spine and forcing every tiny hair on her body to stand on end. Where… _how_?! She didn’t even have enough time to react or scream before she felt his cold breath right next to her ear. “Found you”, he whispered and she opened her mouth to finally scream, but nothing came out. Not a single sound. Her voice completely betrayed her. She felt his cold touch on her right cheek, as it slowly descended down her neck, her bare shoulder, and arm, until it finally settled for her wrist and he wrapped his long, bony fingers around it, grasping it firmly. Both her breathing and her heartbeat were so fast, heavy and loud at this point that she barely heard him as he spoke to her, his voice being very soft and slow, soothing almost… if it weren’t for the fact he clearly didn’t have amicable intentions.

“My dear, a beautiful, graceful creature such as yourself doesn’t belong in a ditch like this. Allow me to help you up”. He supported his offer by slowly backing out, giving her enough space to push herself up, but never letting go of her wrist. His grip was gentle, yet firm at the same time, as he slowly pulled her out from under the bridge. She could barely keep herself standing up on her feet, her knees were about to betray her just as her voice did, any moment now. She didn’t have the courage to look at him, so she kept her gaze low, to the ground. She stumbled forward slightly, but he was ready to lean in and support her. If only he could stop. She couldn’t stand his cold, ghastly touch on her lovely, velvety skin, she just couldn’t. _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!_ As if he actually heard her screaming thoughts, he stepped back, finally letting go of her wrist.

“There. See? Much better, my dear. Ah... but your lovely dress is all ruined. A pity, heh.” he uttered woefully, glancing over her wrinkled, muddied dress. He then just stood there awhile, in silence. She could only assume he was staring at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at him. She simply sobbed quietly, hugging herself. Yet again, as if he was able to magically hear her thoughts, he implored her to look at him. His voice was still very smooth and calming, but his request sounded more like a command. She somehow knew it would be foolish not to abide, so she slowly lifted her gaze to inspect his face. He was wearing a mask that was showing only his eyes. They were grey, cold and dead, much like the rest of him. He pulled the mask down, revealing a wide, sardonic grin. His state of decay, especially around his mouth and cheeks, made it look even more like a snarl than before, and she had an urge to scream again. But she was certain she couldn’t, even if she actually tried to.

“Now, where were we? Ah, yes. You never answered me. Instead, you started this little cat-and-mouse game. Oddly rude for a lady of sin’dorei persuasion, wouldn’t you agree? Well… no matter, heh. I am willing to let go of this little misunderstanding if only you would answer my question.” He sounded very nonchalant and friendly, as if… as if he weren’t at all going to harm her… in any way. Did she actually completely misunderstand his intentions? Did she just get overly paranoid… because he was a Forsaken? His question, as spine-chilling as it seemed to her when she heard it, could have been but a perfectly normal thing to ask for a Forsaken. They were, after all, rather morbid and unusually obsessed with death. Of course… Oh, dear. How foolish she was. He was a perfect gentleman throughout the entire encounter, they had a very pleasant conversation for the most part and he was nothing but friendly and polite. Yet, one question and she instantly assumed the worst. She felt very ashamed of herself at that moment, realizing how horribly biased she was towards other races despite her blatant denial. She was to rectify this appalling mistake this instant if she had any intention of saving what little face she had left… if any at all.

“Well? What say you? Have we got a deal?” He tilted his head, waiting for her response. She nodded quickly, still unable to bring herself to speak up, but she did relax quite a bit after convincing herself that she had merely overreacted. His consistently friendly tone of voice reassured her as well.

“Excellent! I knew you wouldn’t deny this humble Forsaken, after all. Now… back to the question. If you could choose… how would you like to die tonight?” He stretched certain words, like “you” and “die”, emphasizing them a bit too much, perhaps. His eyes glistened with… excitement? Curiosity? It was hard to read him. Or any Forsaken, for that matter. She took a deep breath, licking her lips nervously. Her throat was dry, but she knew she had to speak.

“I… well. I d-don’t… I don’t really know, I… I never thought about… about d-dying before. S-so…” She had to pause. All that stuttering made her sound ridiculous, she needed to compose herself. He looked at her, nodding slowly. “Of course not. I suppose not many actually do. Well, allow me to make it a bit easier for you, eh?” He smiled at her, before drawing his daggers. He did so in a very calm manner, nothing about his movements indicated any aggression or ill intent. He flipped the daggers in his hands, lifting them up for her to see better. “By blades? A swift cut to the throat? A stab through the heart? Yes? No? Perhaps? Or…” Just as fast as they got drawn, the daggers were placed back on his hips. He then extended his right arm, turning his palm upward. With a swift movement of his fingers, he activated what seemed to be a small mechanism originating from somewhere inside of his glove. It ejected a tiny vial towards him, which he caught with his other hand, placing it between his thumb and his index finger. Yet again, he lifted it up for her to observe. “A potent toxin, that would quite literally dissolve all your organs within mere seconds. A quick, but a very painful way to go. No? Hmm… then how about…” The tiny vial disappeared in his hand and she had no way of determining where to exactly, he was simply too fast for her eyes. He reached for his satchel taking out a thin rope with a smooth movement of his hand. He uncoiled it and then stretched it between his hands, motioning towards her for inspection. “Asphyxiation with a rope, perhaps? I would actually recommend this one. So? What have you decided, dear Lilea? I think I managed to offer quite a few exciting options here,“ He smiled at her, cocking his head a little as he waited for her to reply.

“Well… V-victor, I suppose I would… take your advice and… go for the r-...” she stopped abruptly, not finishing her sentence. Her mouth was left in a half-opened state, as sudden realization slapped her across the face with all its might. It was all so obvious, why did it only _now_ dawn on her?! Her mind was rushing all over the place, her thoughts scattered in panic. If he was so harmless, why did he take the less known shortcut and not the main road? _How_ did he even know about the shortcut? He followed her, that’s how. Would an innocent person with nothing to hide wear a mask, especially _after_ she had already seen his face? Would an innocent person with nothing to hide even possess such a mask? But most importantly - what kind of a good-natured, harmless person would have all those horrible weapons and tools on their person? _How_ could she have thought that she misunderstood it all, that she misjudged him? Was she truly that foolish, that… stupid? Naíve? Both?! Her eyes started tearing up but she knew she had to look at him before he noticed that she realized the truth. His head was still tilted and he was still smiling. “Hm, what was that? You were saying?” “The rope…” Lilea whispered, unable to stop the tears that were rolling down her cheeks more and more at this point. Victor’s smile widened, turning into a grin. For the first time since they met earlier that evening, his expression shifted into something far more sinister. His friendly smile, as awful as it looked due to his decaying face, was still mild-mannered. But it was now gone. His eyes were somehow suddenly flashing with sheer malice. Even his voice, normally soft and soothing, assumed a raspy, menacing tone, as he repeated after her: _“The rope.”_ He just stood there, not making a single move, but his gaze upon her was unbearable. She forced herself to look him in the eyes. “I think we both know what happens next, Lilea.” He said this very casually and calmly, but that menacing, dark undertone was still there, looming, persisting.

“Victor… please…” She pleaded, even though she knew it was futile.

"I’m afraid I won’t be able to fully comply with your choice, however. I always start with the blade. But I’ll do my best to finish with the rope, as per your request.”

“You said… we were friends. Why are you doing this…?”

“Oh, but we are friends, my dear. I make friends for life, I told you that. Well, to be completely honest, I was never clear about _whose_ life. But isn’t it obvious? It can’t be mine. Mine ended a long time ago.”

He took a step closer with each sentence. She couldn’t take it anymore, but she was paralyzed in fear. She could try to run, but she knew at this point it was no use. She never had the upper hand, he was much faster and more agile than she thought, despite his almost fragile-looking physique. Before she knew it, she was pinned against a nearby tree. His dagger seemingly materialized in his right hand, he was unnaturally fast. _“No no no no no no…!”_ She started shaking her head wildly, completely overpowered by panic. She was swiftly muffled by his other hand that pressed over her mouth. His stench was nauseating. His blade flashed next to her left eye, but all she could do was let out a suppressed scream.

He started with her face, slowly carving away at it. She felt as his sharp dagger danced over her left cheek, the pain beginning to sting and burn her in a matter of seconds. The feeling of her warm blood flowing down her face in abundance made her keep letting out short, muffled screams into his hand. This didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest, he was focused on his work, almost as if in a trance. He took a few steps back, to admire his artistry. “Beautiful.” He let out an almost childlike gasp of excitement, as he observed her now ruined, bloodied face. He flipped the dagger in his hand as if taking a moment to decide what to do next. He took his hand off of her mouth and she instantly seized the opportunity.

“Please! No more…!

“No more? But I have only just started.”

“Just let me go, I will not… I will not tell anyone, I…”

“Of course you won’t.”

“Victor, _please_!” She cried out in desperation.

He looked at her, taking a few more steps back. Was he… hesitating? Considering? The faintest glimmer of hope emerged on the surface of her mind. It was shattered with vengeance mere seconds later, as Victor charged back into her, pressing his left hand against her soft, unsuspecting belly. Before she could even react, she felt the blade slowly, gradually entering her stomach. He didn’t bother to cover her mouth this time, so she screamed out into the night, as she finally faced her doom.

All because of a quarter of an hour…

* * *

Blood elves were probably his favorite. Oh, how he loved their penchant for life, it made his work all the more exhilarating. More than any other race they were so married to it, to the material and hedonistic realm of this world. He let out a delighted chuckle before focusing on her mutilated body on the ground again. He kept his promise and he was a bit proud of himself for that. The rope looked so lovely around her delicate neck, decorating it like a carefully designed… choker? He let out another chuckle, amused by his own clever double entendre. He felt content. He truly loved how she kept saying his name as if it were somehow going to save her. Maybe she really thought it would have made a difference. He thought about if he should have told her his name in the first place. No, it was actually a good decision, it made it all the more tangible, more… personal. And he enjoyed getting personal. He also knew he had to kill her the moment he did so. Perhaps that’s exactly the reason why.

He was aware, however, that he should definitely stop targeting the members of the Horde. Dark Lady gone or not, they were still allies and if he intended to walk around freely - which he did, he needed to be more prudent about it. He was already playing a very dangerous game by leaving his signature in public places. It’s not like he wished to get caught, but the peril of the mere thought excited him nonetheless. Well, back to work. He can daydream about the whole encounter later.

He was right about one thing. She didn’t belong in a ditch, she was far too lovely, elegant. She will be moved to the bridge, it will be her pedestal. A small gift to her for performing so beautifully. He leaned over her, marveling at his artistry. He supposed most people would have found her attractive in life, but she was all the more comely in her death. They all were. He picked the body up, softly, gently. She was so light, he mused, as he carried her over to the bridge, carefully placing her in the middle of it. He made sure to arrange her limbs in a manner that suited such a masterpiece. Ahh… beautiful, _beautiful_! If he actually still had functional tear ducts, he might have shed a tear or two, out of sheer awe. His hand reached for her face and he softly brushed her golden locks away from it, before running his finger over her carved cheek. It looked even better this time around. Probably because she was too terrified to put up too much of a fight. He followed the lines of the etching on her cheek, his lips widening into a demonic grin. The symbol that he carved on her alabaster face depicted a crude-looking letter “R”. It was the signature that he loved so much and all his victims, no, his… canvases bore the same sigil on their left cheeks, even some he never actually killed. A simple, yet baleful “R”, because…

“R” is for “Rancor”.

* * *

The poor man staggered to the side, unable to control himself and hold his bountiful breakfast in any longer. He retched, violently ejecting the contents of his stomach out into the ditch. His superior approached, grimacing at the body on the bridge, before addressing the breakfast-challenged man before him.

“What are we looking at here, then?”

The other man gasped for breath, taking out an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his mouth. He motioned with his hand for the Captain to give him a moment, composing himself. After patting his mouth one last time with his folded handkerchief he approached him, reluctantly focusing his gaze back to the body.

“Uhh, it’s just horrible, Captain. She…”

“Get it together, for fel’s sake! I need a report! Now!”

“Yes, sir!” The young guard cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “A missing right ear, a gouged left eye, a carved left cheek, an opened abdomen with some of the in-...” He retched again, pressing the handkerchief firmly against his mouth, in hopes of suppressing another vomiting session. “... intestines removed” he proceeded hesitantly. “Fingers missing on both hands and… several other cuts of varying sizes to different parts of the body. The markings around her neck indicate that she was also strangled… with some kind of a rope, I assume.” He patted at his lips again. Hopefully, his stomach managed to calm down now.

“Cause of death?”

“If she didn’t already succumb to all the inflicted injuries by then, I would say it was asphyxiation. Of course, the b-... the body would need to be examined by someone more knowledgeable.”

“Naturally. Well done, you didn’t seem to miss out on any details, despite your fragile guts.”

The Captain kneeled down on one knee to examine the body himself. A nasty, gruesome business. The work of a madman. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. It somehow seemed familiar, though, for some reason. Perhaps something he heard about once, many years ago. He focused on the carving on the poor woman’s cheek, slightly pushing her head to the side to expose it to the daylight better. What was it? An “R”? No… a “Z” with a vertical stroke? It was hard to tell, it was very crude. He stood up, turning to the young guard again.

“What would you make of this… sigil? What does it look like to you? Some sort of a letter? Or something else entirely? A rune?”

“Oh… I was actually wondering about that too, sir. My initial impression was that it was the letter “R”. But just as you suggested yourself, sir, there is no way to be sure of it.”

“An “R”, you say? Let’s assume you are right. Any idea what it could stand for? A name? A word?”

The young guard pondered again, before offering his humble opinion. “Those kinds of things are usually initials, so I would say it stands for a name. Probably a given name, not a surname.”

“A name, you say. Well that doesn’t help us much, does it now?”

No, that wouldn’t help them at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The first story about the Forsaken psychopath and murderer Victor "Rancor" Morrison, as well as my very first attempt at horror/mild gore/murder/serial killer kind of a story. Also the very first proper villain I've ever made. The character was made only a few days ago, for RP purposes. As it sometimes happens, if I manage to "click" with my characters, I tend to develop them more through stories such as this one. I can only hope I did Victor justice since I am completely new to so many things at the same time.


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